A colleague knew what that car was the moment he saw it. Geeks are the best people (I’m a geek, too, so is that too self-congratulatory?).
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Archive for January, 2012
31 items.
I really had fun drawing this.
Children can drive you crazy — but they’re always able to take your mind and put it where it’s important. And fun.
(I’m child-free — but running your kids through rivers and putting them on horses they don’t know is the MOST fun. And the most liberating.)
Why — WHY — have we decided that a normal, natural way of sluffing out toxins is somehow absolutely wrong?
If we go ahead and cry, we’ll be better for it, and able to get on with the job. The “good cry” always puts the weeper back on his or her feet, refreshed and unbound by tension or depression.
Then again, our culture has decided sex and masturbation are evil. We are such a screwed-up species.
If we drive somebody to weeping, we might consider it just preparation for something we may not like to receive. And be prepared to do a litle crying, ourselves.
Oh, wait. I just ‘splained it to myself.
Hitler was a Duchess?
Butchering a horse while arguing; we’ve all tried to carry on an angry conversation while trying to get a job done.
Of course Pfirsich has to dance around the subject. It could be lethal.
Lovely! Dead horse!
I have to be careful doing flashbacks-within-flashbacks. It can get confoosin’ — even to me!
We tend to worship our bad guys. I simply refuse to be all “I am shocked, SHOCKED!” about how and why the stuff happened in Germany. It was right in order with world colonial history. Anybody who claims they can’t figure it out is just willfully blind.
As the Germans said, “Even the Kaiser has to go to the little room every morning.”
So does Darth Vader. I wonder what he takes for reading material?
My former brother-in-law’s name is “Hilty.” Yup, same family of names. He said so — but then, he’s not a very BS guy, not the sort to hide something that’s true.
The Germans are resilient, and forward-thinking. One of my German profs remembered going out as a school-child to re-plant the forests the occupation troops had cut down. Cuckoo-clocks, eh?
They recognized us yanks; they’d lived with the Romans.
